#throamics

fyi you can check out my carrd, and also find my sketchbook art on instagram! + ko-fi 🥰☕

happy throam day fuckers here’s some content

He looks straight at me, and I am right back there in Ottawa, outside Civic Center where we kissed next to the tour bus that I had not yet smashed. I’m in the cabin up in Bismarck where I handed him some part of me that he politely declined. I’m in San Francisco picking a fight with him, in New York watching him go through records he doesn’t plan on buying as he sneaks glances at me working behind the counter, and then we are on the backroom floor, hoping to god Eric doesn’t come early for his shift.

He breathes evenly in the dark. We hear female laughter from a distance, maybe the parking lot or somewhere along the beach. Happy and faraway. A dog barks. “I’ve got one,” he then says, leaning in again and pointing at the sky. “A Gibson’s Flying V. There’s the guitar neck, and there’s the body.” “I see it. What’s it called?” “The Guitar constellation. Obviously.”

Instead of casting suggestive looks around, I spend my evening talking bullshit. Always a valid option as people want to hear me talk about me. It’s good we’ve got something in common. Crowds appear around me without me having to try. I retell the story of that one time me, Bob Dylan and Iggy Pop got horribly drunk in Baltimore and started a band, but broke up the following day due to artistic differences. I launch into my favourite part of Bob getting pissed off and storming out of the room and – There’s a man. On the other side of the room. Talking to a girl. Smiling. There are all kinds of smiles in this world, but some you memorise. Some you learn by heart. Words die in my throat. The people around me disappear. The music fades out like someone’s twisting the volume button down. He’s not gone in the next second. He’s still there. He’s smiling in a way that reaches his eyes – brown, a gorgeous brown, not that I can see it from here, but I remember, I still – nodding energetically, and then he laughs, bright and happy, a drink in his hand. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.